


Lucky to Have You

by Green_Riot



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Romance, Saiyan Culture, Smut, St. Patrick's Day, Three Year Gap (Dragon Ball)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29974818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Riot/pseuds/Green_Riot
Summary: A St. Patrick's Day-themed take on the circumstances that brought Bulma and Vegeta together.Written for the 2021 Shenron's Dungeon Shamrock Shenron event.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 32
Kudos: 84
Collections: Shamrock Shenron





	1. Beer Soaked/Celebration

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta @bardocksheadband for all the support and proof-reading!

Vegeta winced at the sound of shattering glass coming from the living room, followed by curses shrieked by the obnoxious blue-haired woman. His feet carried him into the room before he could think better of it, where he found the woman in question snarling at a large wet stain across her chest as she ordered the cleaning bots to deal with the shards of glass and the remnant of whatever had been spilled.

When her eyes flashed to where he was standing, cross-armed in the doorway, her furious demeanor morphed into excitement quickly enough to give him whiplash. 

“Vegeta!” 

His suspicion was aroused instantly. First, no one was ever excited by his presence. Second, something about her was off. In the months he had been residing at Capsule Corp., he had come to expect that her emotional state would shift to extremes at the drop of the hat, but there was something odd in her glassy blue eyes and the way her body swayed slightly, as if the simple act of standing upright was taxing her. Of course, with her pathetic power level, it was indeed possible that balancing was a challenge. The way she was smiling at him was also disturbing; she seemed to be laughing at some kind of joke he wasn’t in on.

As the bots whirred around the site of the disaster, she came toward him, and his observations about her lack of balance were confirmed. “Happy St. Patrick’s Day!”

Part of him wanted to flee to his living quarters, but she was the only source of amusement available to him outside of training these days. Her temper rivaled his own, with a sharp tongue that was able to get under his skin in an infuriating way that no other being had been able to manage (especially one who lived to see another day). Their screaming matches left him in a variable balance between delight and rage, and he had somehow fallen into the habit of picking petty arguments just for the stimulation.

He decided to bite. “Happy what?”

She gasped, face lighting up as if whatever private joke she was enjoying at his expense had become even funnier. “Of course you don’t know what St. Patty’s Day is!”

It was never too late to simply leave, but, before he could make up his mind, she was attempting to pull him by the arm toward the couch. He reluctantly complied and had barely taken a seat on the sofa when she was thrusting a dark brown, glass bottle toward him while she settled in next to him, a bit closer than he was comfortable with. Cross-legged and facing him, she paused for a moment as she contemplated where to start.

“Okay, so I’m not sure if you know what countries are. Planet Vegeta was one united planet, right? Since you’re the Prince of _All_ Saiyans?”

He rolled his eyes. “The Saiyans were a united race, but I read. I know what your Earth ‘countries’ are.”

“Right. So there’s this one country on our planet called Ireland. St. Patrick’s Day is basically a celebration of Irish people’s heritage.”

“How is their heritage any different than anyone else’s on this planet,” he scoffed. “You’re all fucking human.”

She seemed to consider his words. “I guess. But maybe it’s just different for us since we can’t fly. People from different regions were pretty much isolated from one another until the last couple hundred years, so there are pretty big cultural differences between different areas of the globe.

“St. Patrick’s Day started as a religious holiday. The guy it’s named after is the patron saint of Ireland – basically, he’s just a religious figure people there look up to hundreds of years later because he’s said to have driven all the snakes out of the country one time.”

Vegeta only understood about half of what she was saying since he was unfamiliar with Earth’s religions. “So this ‘St. Patrick’ is a figure from a human legend? Like my people’s Super Saiyan, only not as impressive.”

“Kinda. I don’t buy into the whole religion thing, but over the centuries, the holiday morphed from a somber religious event into a day for partying and celebrating stereotypical Irish things like shamrocks, the color green, and… beer.” 

As she spoke the final word, she brought the bottle in her hand up in front of her and took a swig. Vegeta mimicked her action, taking a tentative sip of the bitter, bubbly beverage. It wasn’t too bad.

She continued. “Today, St. Patty’s Day is basically an excuse for people to get drunk while decked out in green.”

He hadn’t taken much time to examine her attire. She wore a green crop top, still soaked from the beer she had spilled a few minutes before, tight black pants covered with prints of some type of green plant with rounded leaves. Around her neck, she wore a chain of green beads.

“Is the color green reserved only for this holiday?”

His question caught her off-guard. “No, you’re allowed to wear green anytime you want. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve seen you dressed in all sorts of ludicrous attire, and I think this is the only color I’ve never seen you wear.”

“Since when do you pay attention to my clothes?” she teased. “Have you been checking me out, Mr. Saiyan Prince?”

He nearly choked on his beer. “I- It’s not that-”

She always found it adorable when her stoic houseguest was at a loss for words. “I don’t blame you. I’m hot – I’d be offended if you _weren’t_ looking.”

He glared at the wall directly across the room from him, pointedly ignoring the cheeky wink she gave him.

“But, to answer your question, you’re right. I don’t usually wear green. It’s not a great color on me, what with my hair color.”

She looked amazing no matter what she wore, but there was no way that he would ever voice that thought aloud. 

He quickly gulped down his beer – and then another – before breaking the silence. “So you just sit around and drink this all day? I wish all of Earth’s holidays were celebrated in solitude.” He shuddered at the recollection of how the woman’s mother had roped him into the festivities of the holiday called ‘Christmas.’

“Not exactly…” She fell oddly silent for a few moments, a sad expression crossing her features before she continued. “Usually people go out in groups with their friends. I was going to a bar with Yamcha and his teammates, but we got in a fight…”

He rolled his eyes. She fought with the Weakling every time he showed his ugly, scarred face at the compound. There was something about him that made Vegeta’s blood boil more than other Earthlings, which was quite an accomplishment. Everything he did annoyed him, from his annoying laugh, his bloated ego (that he didn’t have the strength to back up), the way he smelled, how he was always touching Bulma. 

After a few moments of silence, she spoke again. “I think I’m done with him for good this time.”

Vegeta grunted as he tore the cap off of another beer. “Good, he’s beneath you.”

The corners of her mouth quirked upwards. “Are you drunk already? I don’t think you’ve ever complimented me on purpose before.”

He had polished off a twelve-pack by now, and Vegeta was feeling an odd sense of relaxation. Maybe he could throw her a bone this one time.

Turning his body toward her, he assessed her briefly before speaking. “He is pathetically weak and cowardly. You are even more pathetically weak, and yet you possess more of a backbone than he could ever dream of, and, while he has no reason to act cocky, you at least have intelligence worth boasting about.”

The compliment caught her off guard, her face flushing. She knew, on some level, that he was right, even if she would never put it so bluntly. Loose-tongued from the alcohol, she decided to articulate the feelings that had been taking form ever since they wished Yamcha back to life. 

“We started dating when we were teenagers. I guess I always knew that we weren’t really compatible, but… sunk cost fallacy. I feel like I can’t have a conversation with him that isn’t about some dumb thing he’s interested in. And anytime I bring up my work, he barely listens and changes the subject as soon as he gets the chance.”

She couldn’t believe how cathartic it was to finally put into words all the disappointments she had been ignoring for so many years.

“Then why bother?” Bulma’s eyes widened at the earnesty of his question. It was one that she had been wrestling with for most of her adult life.

“I guess I’m afraid.”

He scoffed, which earned a glare from Bulma. “What could you possibly fear, Woman?”

She stood abruptly and planted her hands on her hips, still swaying slightly from the alcohol. “Well, some of us need human connection, Vegeta. We need to feel love and affection.”

He rolled his eyes again. “And you desire affection so much that you’re willing to waste your time on that imbecile?”

“That’s what I’m trying to say!” 

He wasn’t sure what she meant, so he waited. She sat on the edge of the coffee table across from him before continuing. 

“Ugh, I don’t even know why I’m talking to you of all people about this… but I guess that I’m so used to people fawning over Bulma Briefs the genius, the inventor, the most beautiful woman in the world, that I feel like no one cares about who I really am. I know that probably sounds stupid, since you prefer keeping to yourself.”

She didn’t know how wrong she was; he had the same need for connection with other people, even if he couldn’t admit it to himself most of the time. His entire life had been spent in isolation, much of it self-imposed, to the point that he wouldn’t know how to bond with another being even if he had the opportunity to lower his guard once in a while.

He regarded her silently for a few moments, surprised when she suddenly doubled over in laughter. 

“Wow, this is supposed to be a celebration, and now I’ve gone and unloaded all of my emotional baggage onto you. Sorry.”

He shrugged. There was no reason for her to apologize.

She nursed another beer in the time it took him to guzzle seven of his own before standing with a yawn and a stretch. 

“Well, thanks for keeping me company. I didn’t know we could have a conversation without screaming at each other.”

She jumped slightly when he chuckled, the foreign noise coming from her normally impassive houseguest making her smile. He was clearly feeling the effect of the dozens of beers he had ingested. The permanent scowl he wore had softened slightly, a slight smile playing on his mouth. 

How had she never realized how handsome he was? She knew he had a fantastic body (she wasn’t a blind nun), but she hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate the sharp, angular facial features of his striking profile.

“I’m gonna head off to bed,” she said before ordering the bots to retrieve the empty bottles.

Feeling tired himself, he stood as well, bringing them nearly nose-to-nose. She swayed dangerously while turning to leave and was surprised when his hands shot out to steady her while hers clasped onto his shoulders. A fit of laughter erupted from her lips as she was abruptly overcome by the absurdity of her situation: hanging out and bitching about boyfriend problems with the alien who had killed said boyfriend when he invaded the planet. Who else but Bulma Briefs could this happen to?

She was even more surprised to hear him laugh along with her, the corners of his slightly glossy eyes crinkling. Before she could think better of it, her body – and lips – were pressed tightly against his. He stiffened for a few seconds before winding one arm around her waist as the other greedily tangled in her hair. 

When they finally broke apart for air, he stared into her wide, ocean blue eyes for a long moment before coming to his senses and fleeing upstairs to his room.


	2. Lucky/Green

Bulma slept in late on March 18 and lounged for a couple hours more in bed. Other than a slight headache and stiff limbs, she was no worse for wear so she might as well head down to the lab to get some work done.

The hum of the gravity room as she poured herself coffee reminded her of the night before, causing her to grimace. She had enjoyed the kiss, but Vegeta’s swift departure was not a great sign that the feeling was mutual. He had seemed pretty drunk, so there was a good chance that he regretted it, which was disappointing since the pre-kiss conversation had led Bulma to hope that they would be getting along better in the future. Without a doubt, the best course of action moving forward would be to pretend it had never happened.

Coffee and muffin in hand, she crossed the compound toward her lab.

\-------

Scribbling furiously on the blueprints she was hunched over, Bulma barely noticed his entrance until he threw a crushed training bot onto the table in front of her. 

Eyes still fixed on the paper under her pencil, she didn’t look up as she spoke. “I’ll fix it as soon as I can.”

When he made no move to leave, she tore her gaze away from her designs to arch a brow at him. “Was there something else?”

His eyes narrowed into slits as his fingertips dug into the biceps of his tightly crossed arms. He let out a huff of air after a few seconds of silence. “I think we need to clarify what happened last night.”

She leaned back in her chair and waited for him to continue.

“My training is my top priority.”

“You think I didn’t already know that?”

He shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable, so she decided to save him the trouble. 

“Vegeta, it was one kiss. I’m not trying to force you to marry me or anything.”

His posture relaxed minutely as she rolled her chair back and walked around the desk toward him. 

“We’d had a bit to drink-” _A lot to drink._ “-and I know you aren’t looking for any type of commitment. You don’t have to worry about me getting all clingy, even if I did enjoy it.” She punctuated her speech with a wink that caused the heat to rise to his cheeks.

“Then it’s settled,” he threw over his shoulder as he made his exit.

Despite his intentions being no different than she had calculated, Bulma still felt a small pang of disappointment as she watched him leave. At least he’d had the balls to address it; a large part of her had assumed that he would go out of his way to avoid her altogether. This was for the best.

\-------

As she had expected, Bulma saw very little of the Saiyan prince in the following weeks. He sought her out only when the gravity room or the training bots needed to be repaired. They had spats here and there, but he mostly kept out of her sight. It suited her well enough at first; things were far less awkward than she had assumed they would be after their drunken makeout session. They had addressed it like adults, agreed to not let it change anything between them, and fallen back into their respective routines.

But the loneliness that crept into her conscience became harder to ignore as the weeks dragged on. She had been serious about her resolve to end things for good with Yamcha this time—they had almost nothing in common and she ended up annoyed with him the more time they spent together. It was with great self-control that she swiped left to reject his first call in late March. Being lonely was no reason to fall back into the comfort of a mediocre relationship.

She ignored his calls resolutely, throwing herself into her work to avoid giving her mind time to wander. When she surfaced from her lab for lunch one afternoon in mid-April, her mother greeted her cheerily in the kitchen.

“Oh, Bulma. I was just about to call over to your office. You have a visitor.”

Bulma groaned. There was only one person in her group of friends that ever came to see her uninvited, and she wasn’t in the mood to deal with him right now. She followed her mother, who was carrying an enormous tray of sandwiches, tea, and cookies, to the patio overlooking the south side of the property. 

Fixing a polite smile on her face, she greeted her guest. “Hey, Yamcha.”

Her ex-boyfriend sprung out of his seat, holding a bouquet of pink and red flowers in one hand. Accepting the flowers, she attempted to maneuver around him to take the seat across from him, but he wrapped his arms around her and tried to kiss her.

“We need to talk.”

His face fell, but he backed up to give her some space. “Aw c’mon, B. What’s there to talk about? We had a fight, big deal.”

She took her seat, hands folded on the table, as her mother fluttered back into the dome-shaped building. “It’s not just this one fight,” she began. “We fight all the time, Yamcha, and, other than our friends and past adventures, we don’t really have anything in common. I think it’d be best if we-”

The sound of scraping as a third chair was pulled away from the table interrupted her speech, and her eyes widened at the sight of Vegeta lowering himself into it while helping himself to several sandwiches. He eyed Yamcha with distaste as he began shoving them into his mouth.

 _”Excuse you.”_ Yamcha glowered back at Vegeta. “Who invited you?”

The Saiyan scoffed. “Who invited you? I live here.”

Yamcha stood abruptly. “Bulma, are you seriously going to let this asshole interrupt us?”

“Well, he’s right. You weren’t technically invited.”

“But-” Yamcha sputtered indignantly. “Bulma, I’m trying to make this work. I’ve been calling every day for weeks, and you won’t even talk to me?”

She groaned. “There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t want to do this back-and-forth thing forever. We’re not compatible.”

“So you don’t think I’m committed?” The scarred baseball player gave Vegeta a dirty look, having hoped that this would be a private moment. “How’s this for commitment?”

He sank to one knee as he pulled a black velvet box from his pocket.

Bulma cringed. “Please don’t.” Her eyes darted quickly to Vegeta, who was watching in mild confusion at the trainwreck that was happening before their very eyes.

“I’m in love with you, Bulma, and I have been for fifteen years. Will you please be my wife?”

An awkward silence hung over the three of them, with Vegeta’s face contorting in disgust while Bulma tried to figure out the most diplomatic way to handle the situation.

“Uh… Y’know, maybe you should propose marriage to someone who is _actually your girlfriend._ ”

He eyed her expectantly.

“ … I’m not going to marry you, Yamcha.”

She had taken no more than three steps toward the door when she felt his hand wrap around her wrist a bit too tightly.

“Can we please talk about this?” he begged.

Spinning to face him, she jabbed a finger into his chest and growled. “That’s exactly the problem! You only hear what you want to hear. I’ve been trying to tell you that this isn’t working out and I don’t want us to be together, and you just fucking _propose?_ Let go of me.”

“That isn’t fair-”

“She said to let her go,” Vegeta was also on his feet, and Yamcha sneered at him while maintaining his grip on her wrist.

“This doesn’t involve you,” Yamcha spat. Before he could continue his tirade, the wrist of the hand gripping Bulma’s arm was yanked away. Vegeta grabbed him by the collar and shoved him onto the ground. 

Mumbling under his breath, he shot a final glance in Bulma’s direction before taking to the sky.

Once Yamcha was out of sight, she turned on the Saiyan. “What the hell was that about?!”

“You would have preferred I let him break your arm? He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”

“And _you’re_ lucky I don’t shove-” She froze. “Why did you come out here?”

He gave her his back, unable (or unwilling) to explain himself.

She rolled her eyes. “Nice try, Vegeta, but you’re practically green with jealousy.”

He eyed her suspiciously over his left shoulder. “Green?”

“Earth expression,” she deadpanned. “But you’re deflecting. You have no reason to be jealous when you’re the one who said that we should forget about that time we kissed.”

“ _You_ said. I said nothing.”

“Well then, tell me what _you_ want.”

He wasn’t sure what he wanted; that was the problem. He heard her sigh from behind him as she turned to go back indoors. 

“Woman… Bulma.”

She turned to find him regarding her carefully before crossing over to her in three long strides and taking her into his arms. His mouth slanted over hers, instantly turning her brain into mush. His lips were warm and softer than one would expect of a battle-hardened warrior.

When he pulled away to let her catch her breath, his dark eyes bored into hers. “What have you done to me, Woman?” he whispered.

“Huh?”

He closed his eyes tightly. “You make it hard to concentrate on my training…”

His hands traced patterns up and down the bare skin of her arms. She wondered how much restraint it took for him to keep his touch gentle.

“Let’s go inside,” she suggested.

She had assumed they would walk back in through the patio sliding door, never expecting him to pick her up and take to the air, landing softly on the balcony outside his bedroom. Leading the way inside, she was unsurprised to find the room in the same pristine, impersonal condition it had been in when he had moved in. Other than a pair of boots next to the door, there were no signs of habitation whatsoever, and she imagined whether there would be more personal affects on display if he truly felt at home here.

Pulling her eyes away from her surroundings, she noticed that he was leaning against the sliding glass door, watching her carefully and with perhaps a tiny bit of nervousness. She flashed the most reassuring smile she could muster as she took a seat on the edge of the bed, her own nerves causing her to doubt herself. 

When he hesitated to join her, she made her way back to him and reached out to run her hands across his shoulders. 

“Is this okay?” she asked quietly. “We really don’t have to-”

She was interrupted by him kissing her hard and bringing her legs around his waist before striding across the room to sit on the bed. His hands wandered across her back, into her hair, and back, over and over again. 

He was enthusiastic, but clearly inexperienced, and she found herself having to take the lead. Luckily, he was a quick study. Perhaps some of the skills he picked up from fighting, such as reading an opponent’s body language and adapting quickly, could be useful in this arena as well. Swiping her tongue across his bottom lip, she opened her mouth slightly. He picked up on her cue, sliding his tongue cautiously into her mouth and groaning in surprise when she sucked on it.

After a while, he pulled away from her mouth to taste the column of her neck, nipping and biting along the smooth skin there as she squirmed in his lap. Emboldened by her clear enjoyment, his hands slid further down to her round behind. When his hands reached their destination, they stilled as if he were afraid of crossing a line. She moved her hands over his and applied enough pressure for him to get the hint. He responded swiftly, groping her ass over the material of her dress and causing her to mewl into his mouth.

She smirked to herself as she felt his fingers trail along her thighs to just under the hem of her dress. What he wanted was obvious, and the fact that he was being such a gentleman was adorable. She decided to do him a favor by leading the way for this part.

He frowned slightly as she pulled herself away from him to stand, but it faded as she began lifting the dress up and over her head, leaving her clad in only her black bra and red underwear. She wished she had had the foresight to wear a matching set, but, going off the hungry way his eyes drank in her exposed body, he didn’t seem to care. 

His hands moved more urgently over every inch of skin he could reach once she had climbed back into his lap, but she put a finger over his lips to block him when he pulled her in for a kiss.

“This isn’t fair,” she pouted. “I’m practically naked and you haven’t even taken off your armor.”

He rushed to unclasp the gold straps, a slight tremble to his fingers as he discarded the armor onto the floor. Her fingers reached under the top portion of the formfitting bodysuit, pulling it up and over his spikey hair before reverently tracing the scars on his chest. She had seen him shirtless countless times before, but she had never had the chance to observe so closely all the slight imperfections marring his skin that somehow made him all the more perfect. When she glanced at his face, he was watching her with an inscrutable expression as she studied him. 

She had barely leaned forward to place a soft kiss on a jagged scar across his left shoulder when the air around her shifted and she found herself on her back, splayed across the bed as his dark eyes raked across her form from above. He placed one finger under her bra, swiftly tearing through the material as if it were tissue paper. As the remains of the garment fell to the sides, he brought his mouth down to leave a trail of kisses from collarbone to nipple. She cried out at the dual assault of his erection pressing against her center and his teeth ghosting over the peak of one breast and then the other.

“Fuck.” He pulled his mouth away from her breast to trail lower along her body. Her underwear received the same treatment as her bra, being torn from her body in the blink of an eye. 

Her hips jerked upward as he nipped at the skin of her inner thighs, but she became self-conscious when he sat back on his haunches and eyed her uneasily.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, fearing that he had changed his mind.

He looked at the comforter next to her, face contorting in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. His cheeks flushed as he muttered, barely loud enough for her to make out his words, “I don’t know how to make you feel good.”

His admission stirred something within her. It made sense that his former life of planet purging while being enslaved by a lizard tyrant hadn’t left much room for romantic pursuits, but it was hard to imagine someone so sexy being a virgin.

“Here,” she moved to the side of the bed. “Sit with your back against the headboard.”

He complied, still reluctant to meet her eye as she straddled him once more. 

“You’ve been making me feel good, so just keep up what you’re doing and don’t be afraid to try some new things. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something, but you have to do the same if you don’t like something.”

After he nodded in agreement, she let her mouth wander down his neck, across his chest, and down his abdomen. She looked to him for permission as her fingers found their way under his waistband, to which he responded by lifting his hips and pulling them off himself. She hadn’t expected him to be so… impressive in that regard, and some doubts about whether she could accommodate him flitted across her mind. 

Meeting his gaze, she lowered her mouth, never breaking eye contact as she dragged her tongue up along his shaft. He moaned his approval as she wrapped her hand as far around him as it could reach, licking and kissing as she pumped him gently. The sound of fabric ripping joined his breathy cries at her ministrations, drawing her attention to the torn duvet clenched in his hands. If he enjoyed this…

She wrapped her lips around him, pulling a string of alien curses from his mouth. Fear seized her for a brief second when he brought his hands to the back of her head. After the treatment the bedding had received, she was afraid that, after all this hard work to prevent the apocalypse, she would meet her end by choking to death on Saiyan cock. To her relief, his hands remained gentle, although he was clearly fighting against his baser instincts. 

_“Bulma.”_ Kami, she loved the delicious way his gruff, breathy voice sounded wrapped around her name. “I’m gonna… I can’t…”

She responded by raking her nails lightly down his thighs and applying more suction. The hands in her hair trembled momentarily before he clenched them tightly at his sides as he came down her throat. She drank it greedily, intoxicated by the feeling of being able to elicit such a reaction from someone so powerful. 

When his body relaxed, she moved up to lay beside him. “Feel good?”

He grunted in response, but his face had relaxed into a rare smile as his breathing slowed.

“Would you like to do that for me?”

She wasn’t prepared for how quickly he threw her legs over his shoulders, barely pausing to form a plan of action before diving in and pressing his tongue against her center. Once again, she marveled at what a quick study he was; any motion he made that received a positive reaction (which was almost everything) was repeated and improved upon. Each experimental touch was featherlight until he was sure that increasing the pressure wouldn’t hurt her. The dark glint in his eye told her that it was game over once he discovered the clitoris, and she crested more quickly than during any previous sexual encounter of her life – a feat made all the more impressive by the fact that he was a novice.

When she became over-stimulated, she had to push him away by the shoulders to be released. He moved up between her legs, his tip just pressing against her soaked entrance, but waited for a sign of approval, which she gave by wrapping her legs around him and raising her hips toward his. 

“Just be careful,” she warned. “I know your ego doesn’t need any boosting, but you’re quite a bit bigger than what I’m used to.”

His smirk had never been less infuriating. He held himself still as she worked her hips to adjust to his girth. 

Once she was sure she could take it, she nodded. “Okay, you can move.”

He pulled his hips back slightly, setting a slow, steady pace while studying her face for any signs of discomfort. When he was sure that he wasn’t hurting her, he turned his attention to her flushed, heaving chest, enjoying the view of her breasts jiggling with each thrust and how each movement drew wonderful sounds from her beautiful mouth. 

She reached a hand between them, rubbing circles around the spot that he had used to make her come undone before. He placed his hand over hers, and she moved hers out of the way. Her blue eyes widened, never leaving his face until her second orgasm crashed over her. He cursed and struggled to keep from breaking her as the walls trembling around his cock pulled him over the edge with her, a hoarse cry leaving his lips as he collapsed on top of her. 

He was pulled back to his senses by her breathy laugh. “Holy shit. Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

Rolling to his side, he smirked as he pulled her flush against his chest. A few quiet moments passed before his deep, even breaths indicated that he was drifting off to sleep. His scowl, while still present even in slumber, appeared softer, his entire expression displaying a contentment that was foreign on his face.

She should have known that getting lucky was the best way to calm a grumpy Saiyan.


	3. Coin/Gold

Fucking quickly became a routine for the two stubborn residents of Capsule Corp., and it proved to be a release that neither had realized they needed. 

Vegeta, although still disappointed by not having reached Super Saiyan, could not deny that he was making progress in his training. He was able to move about in 350 times Earth’s gravity with little effort. While this achievement was notable, Kakarot had managed the transformation after training a mere handful of days under 100 times Earth’s gravity. Progress was coming, slowly, and having the woman to argue with during the day and fool around with at night (and sometimes during the day) helped him retain some modicum of sanity.

Despite their heated arguments, which she secretly loved, having Vegeta to share her bed with had improved Bulma’s mood drastically. Her days felt less tedious than before, and apparently a good dicking was all it took to remove Yamcha from her thoughts completely. What she and Vegeta had wasn’t serious, just good old-fashioned stress-releasing fun to keep them from strangling one another, and he seemed just as content as she was to leave it at that.

The increasing intensity of Vegeta’s training was beginning to require her setting aside more time for maintenance on the gravity room. One hot summer day found her banging on the door, ready to run yet another round of diagnostics to prevent another explosion. She shuddered at the reminder of seeing Vegeta in a coma.

“What do you want?” He scowled as soon as he swung the door open.

“Nice to see you, too,” she muttered, squeezing past him with her toolbox. “It’s Thursday. You know I do check-ups on Thursdays.”

He rolled his eyes at her back as he slammed the door. “I don’t see why you can’t schedule it for when the ship isn’t in use.”

“Because,” she huffed, “there is hardly any time when you’re not in here, and when you aren’t– Well…”

She felt his warm breath on the back of her neck as his arms wrapped around her from behind.

“Do you want me to get this done or not? I was under the impression that you wanted me to get out of here.”

“I simply wanted to know why you were interrupting me. Your explanation is satisfactory.”

She let out a soft laugh as he brought his mouth down to suckle on her exposed neck. “Is that all that’s ‘satisfactory,’ Prince?”

He spun her around, placing her butt on the console and positioning himself between her spread legs. “I find very few things on this planet to be satisfactory.” 

“Oh, really?” 

With a teasing smile, she lowered the zipper on her mechanic’s jumpsuit. His hands slid under the baggy garment, rubbing her sides over the camisole she wore underneath for a moment before swiftly lifting her with one hand while removing the jumpsuit altogether with the other. While the jumpsuit miraculously remained in one piece, the tank top and shorts underneath, as well as her undergarments, were not so fortunate.

“You jerk,” she half-heartedly slapped his chest. “You’re awfully impatient for someone that doesn’t even appreciate anything this planet has to offer.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth, Woman. I said there were a few things that I like.”

“Like what?”

He grunted, ignoring her question in favor of tasting the skin along her collarbone, but she placed a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Uh-uh. You have to earn it.”

He could remove her hand as easily swatting a fly, but he humored her. “What do you want?”

She placed a finger thoughtfully on her chin while deliberating. “I want you to tell me three things you like about Earth.”

“Is that all?”

She nodded.

“I like the food. I like this training facility. And I love…”

Her breath caught in her throat, completely floored by where this was heading.

“… the fact that Frieza is nowhere to be found.”

He hid his smirk in her neck while she pouted. “I don’t even make the list?”

“You only told me to list three things, which I did. Plus, I haven’t even decided whether your positive attributes make up for that big mouth of yours.”

“Whatever.”

It took no time at all for him to have her wet and ready, and he wasted no time shoving his training pants down and easing himself inside her. Her arms clung desperately to his shoulders as he increased his pace, the familiar coil tightening in her lower belly. He had become dangerously adept at giving her pleasure. 

At some point, he had lifted her off the console, balancing her legs in the crook of his arms as he effortlessly pulled her down onto him again and again until her body went limp in his arms. A hand gripped the back of her neck, roughly but not hard enough to hurt, as he finished with a shout and lowered them both to sit on the ground. Still buried within her, he rested his head on her shoulder while they caught their breath.

With no small amount of effort, she hoisted herself onto her feet, stretching her limbs before locating the jumpsuit she would now have to go commando in.

“If you keep tearing up my wardrobe like that, I’m gonna make you get a part-time job so you can earn some coin and replace all the clothes you destroy,” she chided as she got to work on the repairs.

“You said I was ‘worth it’ the other night,” he countered with a smirk that quickly faded as he thought of something. “What is the standard for Earth currency, anyway? You don’t use the Galactic credit system. How is the monetary value of goods decided here?”

His question caught her by surprise, finance not being something she would have guessed him to be interested in. Also surprising was the fact that he seemed content to put his training on hold while she worked; he usually flew off to Kami-knows-where to train in the wilderness whenever the gravity room was out of commission. 

“Well, I guess like any monetary system, it’s all kind of arbitrary. I’m no expert when it comes to finance, but, from what I understand, currency from country to country is somehow based on the value of gold.”

He scoffed. “So your planet can’t even agree to one currency system for the planet to use? That sounds moronic.”

She couldn’t help but agree with him. “Yeah, our petty squabbling between different regions is probably why the rest of the galaxy has been able to accomplish so much more than us when it comes to interstellar travel.”

“You said the worth of money here is based on the relative value of gold. Why gold?”

“No clue. I guess our ancestors just liked how shiny it was and decided it was the most valuable thing on the planet.”

He was silent for several minutes as she went through the series of commands to diagnose each of the ship’s operational systems. An error message popped onto the screen, and she groaned.

“Crap. Looks like I’m gonna have to take apart the reactor. It’ll be a while.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know. A few hours at least.”

He shrugged and left her alone to her work.

\-------

She finished the repairs in a little over three hours before searching for Vegeta to tell him the good news. The library where he spent a surprising amount of time was the second place she checked (after the kitchen), but the room was empty, as was his bedroom. He must have gone to train in the badlands.

His absence at dinnertime was slightly unusual, but she assumed that he was simply making up for the time he had lost earlier. The hours dragged by slowly, gradually causing her to worry, until she heard a tap on her balcony door after eleven o’clock. She turned on the lamp beside her bed as he strode toward the bed.

“Where have you been?” 

He gave no response, only tossing a large, lumpy object onto the bed beside her. She gasped upon examining the softball sized chunk of pure gold.

“What the hell, Vegeta?! Where did you find this? This has to be worth _millions_ of zeni.”

He flashed a triumphant smirk as he removed his boots and armor and crawled into the bed with her. “Consider it payment for services rendered.”

Stunned into silence, it took a while for her brain to form the words she was searching for. “I was just joking! You didn’t have to do _this.”_ She gesticulated wildly, turning the hunk of metal around in her hands to examine it.

He smiled to himself as she studied it, imagining how she would react when he showed her the other thing he had unearthed.


	4. Emerald/Rainbow

It was nearly three in the morning, and Vegeta was still wide awake. Bulma had spent a considerable amount of time examining the piece of gold; he was surprised that she hadn’t gone down to her lab to inspect it with the help of the equipment there. When she had finally set the metal onto her night table and switched off her lamp, she’d snuggled into his side and began pelting him with questions about his homeworld. Her analytical brain seemed to want to know about everything: the geology, the foods, his people’s customs. He had demurred from several lines of questioning, although he was reluctant to admit that it was because he wasn’t sure of the answers himself. There were so many things about his heritage and himself that he would never know.

His ignorance of his planet and his ancestors’ traditions was likely the cause of this particular night’s insomnia, but he preferred to blame the tossing and turning and loud snoring of the one lying next to him. He ran over the information he could recall again and again and sought ways to fill in the gaps. Maybe the details weren’t as important as he was making them out to be. If he were honest with himself, he could understand that worrying about whether the process ran smoothly was an awfully convenient alternative to the more pressing matter of what the Woman would think about the whole thing.

When five o’clock rolled around and he yet to doze off, Vegeta carefully disengaged from the mess of limbs and blue curls wrapped around him to begin another day. 

\-------

Bulma’s excitement for her latest project was all-consuming, and she barely registered the hours flying by until the lab’s doors sliding open drew her attention. Pushing the safety goggles up her forehead and stretching her neck, she checked the clock on the wall and was surprised to see that it was early evening. 

“You haven’t eaten.”

“What, have you been hanging out with my mother or something?”

With a noncommittal grunt, he leaned his back against her workstation and gazed down at the mess of wires and circuitry. 

“Do you want to know it is?” she asked with a teasing smile.

He met her eye and waited for her to elaborate.

“Too bad. It’s a surprise.”

So it was something for him. That piqued his interest, but he was ushered out of the lab before he could ask any questions.

With one final look at her work-in-progress, Bulma sighed. She might as well go find herself some dinner.

\-------

The sun was still barely in the sky when she made her way to her bedroom. It had apparently rained most of the day; she let herself bask in the scent of petrichor as she pulled her balcony doors open. She stretched across a chaise lounge with a book in hand. After reading a few pages, she was interrupted by the sound of a knock on her bedroom door. 

“It’s open!” she shouted, expecting her mother to come find her. To her surprise, it was Vegeta who came to join her, barely sparing her a glance as he dropped into the chair next to her.

He seemed lost in thought, and she was contemplating asking if anything was wrong when he looked out at the horizon and his jaw went slack. Bulma’s eyes followed his line of sight to a stunning rainbow that stood against a backdrop of twilight. 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” she ventured.

His mouth snapped closed as he rushed to school his features into a mask of indifference. “It’s fine, I suppose.”

She smiled slightly at his tough-guy façade. “Did you see rainbows like that on other planets?”

“Rainbow.” He hummed. “The only place I’ve ever seen such a thing is on Vegetasei.”

She wanted to pry for more information. It was rare for him to bring up his homeworld unprompted. But she knew him well enough to know that if she wanted information, he would have to share it on his own terms.

“We called it Bhÿrgkae̥l.”

“Beerg-kah-il,” she tested the word in her mouth.

The side of his mouth she could see pulled upward in a small smile. “Something like that.”

She decided to push her luck. “Did Saiyan mythology attach any meaning to it? A lot of cultures and religions here associate rainbows with different things.”

He furrowed his brow, and she assumed that she wouldn’t get a reply from him. After a moment of consideration, he answered. “I can’t remember the story exactly, but it was said that the first Saiyan warriors received the gift of ki from Bhÿrgkae̥l. It eventually came to represent strength and a warrior’s pride.”

“Rainbows are a symbol of pride here, as well, but they didn’t take on that association until fairly recently.” She didn’t see any reason to point out the difference between Saiyan pride and LGBTQ pride, but she did wonder what attitudes toward sexuality were like in other parts of the galaxy.

Absorbed in her own train of thought, she missed the wide-eyed stare fixed on her as Vegeta concluded that their cultures might not be so different after all. He stood and left abruptly without pausing to respond to her inquiries as to where he was rushing off to.

_What a jerk._

The light was fading fast, and Bulma decided to give up on her book to take a shower. When she emerged from the bathroom, she found Vegeta sitting on the edge of her bed with his arms crossed. He glanced up at her, an inscrutable expression in his eyes, as she toweled her hair dry. If she didn’t know who he was, she would think that he was nervous about something.

His countenance softened slightly as she dropped the towel and sauntered toward him in all her naked glory and crawled into his lap.

“Something wrong?” she asked between kisses.

He stiffened. “I was thinking about…”

She pulled away and waited for him to finish. The intensity radiating from her turquoise eyes made him falter like a coward.

“ … the Androids,” he lied. “I have yet to make the transformation.”

She offered a sympathetic smile as she carded her fingers through his hair. “We still have time.”

Gripping the back of her head softly, he pulled her mouth back down to his, pushing the doubts from his mind to just enjoy the warmth of her body wrapped around his own and the taste of her mouth. He groaned as the fingers twisted in his hair tightened, almost hard enough to hurt, as she nipped and kissed his earlobe before moving down to his neck. She bit him hard, and he knew that he had to do it now.

“Bulma-”

“Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips, the fierce look in her eyes pinning him to the spot. “I want you.”

He swallowed hard, disbelieving what he had just heard, and reclined back into the pillows. For once, he was unwilling to fight for dominance against her.

\-------

When she rolled off of him, he climbed out of the bed. She pouted.

“Where are you going?”

He gave no response as he reached under the bed for the item he had placed there before. Her eyes widened as the lamp’s light reflected from the jagged corners of the otherwise smooth green stone. He waited impatiently with his hand outstretched, but she was too stunned to take it.

“What’s this for?”

“I found it while I was searching for the gold I brought you yesterday. It reminded me of you.”

He took her hand and placed the emerald on top of it. She had to use both hands to support it due to its weight. 

“Vegeta, that’s so…” _Romantic_. She wasn’t sure that he would take to kindly such a description. “Thank you.”

She turned the enormous stone over in her hands, smiling to herself. “Between this and that giant chunk of gold you found, I could make a hell of an engagement ring.”

Her breath caught, embarrassed at what she had implied.

“Engagement?”

She shrugged, attempting to seem unfazed. “It’s nothing. It’s custom around here that someone who wants to get married presents a ring to the other person as they ask them to marry them.”

Seeking to change the subject she added, “Well, I’ll have a gift for you in the next couple of days or so. I can’t promise that it will be priceless metals or jewels, but I think you’ll like it.”

\-------

When Bulma awoke the following morning, she was greeted to the sight of Vegeta dumping armfuls of his training clothes onto her bed.

“What’s going on?” she asked groggily as she groped for her alarm clock. It wasn’t even six o’clock.

“I’m tired of having to go back and forth to change clothes. It’d be easier if they were in here. Where should I put them?”

She was struggling not to fall back asleep when her eyes shot open at the realization that Vegeta had apparently decided to move in with her. 

Sure, they had technically been living together for nearly two years, ever since she had offered to host him at Capsule Corp., but sharing a room with him was different. It was as though they were in an actual relationship instead of just fooling around.

She had noticed subtle changes in their dynamic, particularly in the fact that they were having conversations that weren’t screaming matches and spent more and more time together without having sex. On some level, she was appalled that the company of her best friend’s sworn enemy (who had killed several of her other friends) was not appalling in the slightest. He was grouchy and had committed countless atrocities in the past, but, when they were alone, there was a gentleness to him that belied his gruff exterior.

He was still watching her expectantly, so she dragged herself out from under the covers and found an empty drawer in her dresser for him to store his things. 

When his belongings were put away, he left without a word. Bulma attempted to fall back asleep. Having no such luck, she decided it was as good a time as any to get back to work on her nearly finished side project.

\-------

Despite her reservations regarding Vegeta moving into her room, she was surprised that very little had changed. The worst thing to come of it so far had been her mother’s sly comments on noticing that Vegeta’s room was no longer being used, offered with a wink. Bulma had stormed away from that conversation in embarrassment—although not before hearing some unwanted suggestions about grandkids. 

Later in the week, Bulma beamed down at the finished project in her hands. She debated whether or not to wrap it, or at least put a bow on it, but the choice was taken out of her hands when the person on her mind joined her.

He took the tablet from her outstretched hand with a puzzled expression. When she swiped the screen to activate it for him, his eyebrows shot up at the words that appeared before him in an all but extinct language. Her finger reached out to tap something on the screen, and the lab was filled with arpeggiated chords played by an instrument that sounded like the combination of a sitar and a harp. After a few bars, a reedy wind instrument comparable to an oboe joined, followed by a female vocalist with a low, breathy voice that trilled toward the ends of each phrase.

Vegeta’s face was more expressive than Bulma had ever seen before, fluctuating between incredulity, joy, and grief. His eyes lit up as recognition dawned upon him, and he soon began humming along. When the song ended, his eyes remained fixed straight ahead, lost in memories he had never expected to revisit.

“I used Raditz’ old scouter as a reference for translation, but I don’t understand the spoken language at all. I know that song is called ‘Bhÿrgkae̥l’?”

His eyes returned to the present and he nodded. “I’ll translate it for you later.”

She rushed to show him the other artifacts she had been able to gather. “With the contact Saiyans had with other parts of the galaxy, I knew some bits and pieces of your culture had to be stored somewhere. My sister has connections with a Galactic Patrol officer who was able to put me in contact with a couple of archivists on other planets. There isn’t a whole lot on here, but I’m hoping that we’ll be able to recover more soon.”

The user interface was intuitive, and he easily found his way back to the menu. His heart clenched as he opened a random file that turned out to be a transcription of the legend of the Super Saiyan.

She watched him read for a few minutes before he placed the tablet gently on her desk. 

“I accept.”

Before she had a chance to ask what he meant, her body was pulled flush against him as his mouth covered hers.


	5. Tradition/Heritage

Later in the evening, Bulma was draped over his chest while Vegeta read aloud. She couldn’t understand the words he spoke, but enjoyed the way the foreign language sounded in his gravelly voice nonetheless. When he finished each story or poem, he would relay the gist of it to her in English, sharing pieces of his heritage that he’d assumed had been reduced to cosmic dust along with the rest of his planet. 

He placed the gift on the bedside table after a couple hours and wrapped both arms around the woman who had given him so much. 

She had never seen him look so content. After wrestling against the idea for a moment or two, she decided to ask some of the questions that had been on her mind for months. The worst he could do was refuse to answer them.

“What do you miss most about Vegetasei?”

His face darkened, and she regretted pushing him. She was surprised to receive an answer.

“I’m not sure… I don’t remember it very well to be honest.”

That made sense. He had been taken by Frieza at such a young age, and she couldn’t imagine what memories she would retain of Earth if she had been denied so many of her formative experiences.

“I think about the foods sometimes. I remember a plant-based dish called Vijbro̸kh that used to be served at the palace on special occasions.” He hesitated before adding, “I can’t recall what it tasted like.”

She nestled her face against him, knowing better than to offer him pity but wishing there was a way that she could recover the whole world he’d lost.

“What kind of special occasions would they serve Veej… that dish for? Was it for holidays?”

A puff of air escaped through his nose. “The Saiyans didn’t have frivolous holidays like the ones on this planet. We celebrated victories and held feasts in honor of warriors who died nobly in battle.”

Ignoring his jab at Earth traditions, she asked, “Was there any entertainment at these celebrations?”

He hummed. “There was music… and exhibition fights. I always resented not being allowed into the ring.”

She smiled at the idea of a tiny Vegeta getting pissy at not being allowed to fight with the grown-ups, but froze at his next words. 

“I was plenty strong enough to take on adult opponents, but my mother worried too much.”

“Your mother?” 

She had never heard him mention his mother before, and she knew instantly that it was a topic he didn’t wish to discuss by the tight line his mouth made after she pressed for details. Hoping to smooth his ruffled feathers, she placed several kisses onto the scars on his pectorals.

“Are there any other traditions that you can remember?”

He shifted uncomfortably, and she pulled away slightly to look at his face.

“There is one that I am trying to remember, but, since I was so young, it didn’t concern me at the time.”

She waited for him to go on, and, after a long silence, he did.

“I am missing several pieces of the ritual for taking a mate, but I think I’ve retained enough details to make it binding, even if it isn’t a hundred percent accurate.”

He felt her stiffen in his arms and looked down to find her regarding him with a puzzled confusion.

“Um… What’s a mate?”

One of his eyebrows went up in confusion. “A mate? The person you spend your life with and procreate with, in the case of opposite-gender pairs. I assumed that those exist here, based on your parents and Kakarot and his woman.”

She pulled away from him to sit up. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

He shrugged. “I suppose that is the Earth terminology, but mating for Saiyans seems much more permanent.”

She chose her words carefully. “Vegeta… I really enjoy being with you, but I think it’s a bit too early to be thinking about something that serious.”

His confusion mounted. “But what about this?” He gestured toward the tablet of Saiyan literature and music she had presented him with earlier in the day.

It was her turn to be confused. “It’s just a gift. I thought it was something that would make you happy. I wasn’t trying to  _ propose  _ to you or anything.”

“But I gave you the emerald?”

“You didn’t tell me that I was obligated to _marry_ _you_ just by accepting what I thought was a gift with no strings attached.”

His confusion turned quickly into hurt—and even more quickly into anger. “If you had no intention of being my mate, then why did you let me move in here? What have we been doing fucking for the better half of a year?”

“Because we don’t marry every person we sleep with here! I thought we were keeping it casual, having a good time before the Androids show up to wreck shit.” The accusatory tone that had crept into his voice was making her defensive.

He threw the sheets off and picked up the shirt he had discarded onto the floor.

“Look,” she took a deep, calming breath. “I don’t really know where this is heading. I’m not saying that I  _ never _ want to be your wife… or mate… or whatever. I’m just saying that it’s a discussion we need to have together.”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob, biting back on the instinct to lash out. “I’m sorry that I mistook your intentions,” he said curtly.

Without a backward glance, he was gone. 

\-------

Vegeta beat his body into a pulp in the gravity room for most of the night, cursing the elusive transformation, cursing himself for not achieving it, and cursing the woman for distracting him from his purpose. He directed another round of curses at himself for being stupid enough to believe that she – or anyone else for that matter – would be a suitable mate for the Prince of All Saiyans. His destiny left no room for petty attachments.

When exhaustion overtook him, he dragged himself into the bathroom attached to his old room. As the scalding water cascaded over his bruised and tired muscles, he searched yet again for an answer to his dilemma. His strength was well beyond what Kakarot had achieved before he ascended, so what was holding him back?

It had to be this planet. His rival’s transformation had occurred on Namek. Going to the new Namekian homeworld was out of the question, since no one knew where it was located, but perhaps he could find a suitable planet or asteroid to train under more challenging conditions.

He certainly wasn’t running away from  _ her _ .


	6. Blarney/Lucky Charms

A tapping on his door pulled Vegeta from his fitful slumber, and he struggled to crack his eyes open against the glare of the sunlight pouring through the curtains. The door was pushed open, and Bulma gave him a small, apologetic smile as she entered, pulling a large cart brimming with breakfast foods behind her.

His eyes narrowed at the intrusion, still feeling too humiliated to face her, but his stomach betrayed him by growling loudly enough for her to hear it. He swiped a metal tray brimming with scrambled eggs off the top shelf and began shoveling the contents into his mouth as much from hunger as from his aversion to speaking to her after she had rejected him the night before.

She pulled the chair from the writing desk over beside the bed, and sank down into it, her hands clasped stiffly around her knees. “Vegeta… I’m sorry.”

He didn’t glance up from his eggs, but she pressed forward nevertheless.

“I could have handled things much better. I guess I was just… scared.”

That gave him pause. He examined her warily from the corner of his eye. The fact that he was acknowledging her at all was encouraging.

“Marriage – or mating, I guess – isn’t something I want either of us to take lightly. I only want to get married once, so when you started talking about us being together permanently, I just… panicked.” She took a deep breath, tears prickling the edges of her vision. “That doesn’t mean that I don’t see a future for us.”

His fork stilled as he mulled over her words. “I suppose I shouldn’t have assumed the courting rituals are the same here as on my homeworld.”

It wasn’t exactly an apology, but it was the closest she had ever heard him come to admitting that he had been wrong about something. Her nervousness subsided slightly as he continued inhaling his breakfast, and she filled one of the two coffee mugs for herself.

When the food had disappeared, they sat in silence for a few minutes, neither sure of what exactly needed to be said as they sipped their coffee. After draining her mug, Bulma stood to join him on the bed. She intended to sit beside him but was surprised when he grabbed her hips and maneuvered her onto his lap.

“Wanna take a day off?” she breathed into his ear.

The hand that had been trailing along the curve of her spine stilled, and she could see the hesitance written across his face.

She sighed. “Never mind.” 

His arm tightened around her when she attempted to pull away. When her eyes went back to his face, she found the furrow between his brows creased more deeply than usually. She tried to smooth the harsh lines with her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead while he wrestled with whether or not to tell her what was on her mind.

“I’m making progress, but I still haven’t ascended.”

She hummed as she ran her fingers through his gravity defiant hair. “I know you’ll get there. If Goku could do it, so can you.”

He bristled at the mention of his rival, and she rushed to smooth it over.

“I mean it. You’re much more disciplined…” Her mouth twisted into a teasing smile as her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Not to mention the fact that  _ you’re the Prince of All Saiyans _ .”

“ _ Tch.  _ Flatterer.” He fought a smile regardless.

Her hand snaked between their bodies to grip him through his boxers. “I’m pretty sure you outclass him in other ways, too…”

The room blurred past her, and she inhaled sharply a fraction of a second before she found herself lying under him on the bed. 

“Blarney will get you nowhere, Woman,” he growled. His words were belied by his mouth hungrily exploring her neck and the hardening length pressed against her hip. 

A sharp retort was at the tip of tongue, but it came out as a moan as his hand slid down the front of her shorts. Her eyes drifted closed as her world narrowed until the sharpness of his teeth ghosting over the delicate skin where her neck and shoulder met combined with a thick finger tracing the edges of her folds were the only things that existed. Only when he pulled away to remove her t-shirt did they open to see the infuriatingly sexy smirk he always wore when exposing her body to his gaze.

Her pants were the next to go, and he was soon back to teasingly stroking her aqua curls as his tongue explored every dip and curve of her chest.

“Vegeta, ah… don’t… don’t tease me,” she whined.

He loved hearing the headstrong woman beg and didn’t hesitate to thrust inside her, groaning into the crook of her neck as he gave her time to adjust. When her hips began rising toward his, he began moving in long slow strokes as her nails dug into his back. The symphony of moans spilling from her mouth urged him onward, and he found himself biting the inside of his cheek to keep from blurting out all the things that he wanted to say to her. 

He felt his release coming too soon, and he moved a hand between them to push her over the edge with him.

While she used the bathroom, he worked to summon the courage for what he needed to do. He knew better than to let attachments to others get in the way of his training, but the urge to ignore what his instincts were telling him had never been stronger.

He watched her from his peripherals while she climbed into the bed next to him, looking content (and a little sleepy). He waited for her to settle her head against his bicep before speaking.

“I need to leave.”

She pulled away from him with a frown.

“I think I will have better luck unlocking the Super Saiyan transformation if I train in space for a while.”

“Will you come back?”

“Of course.”

“When?”

He didn’t answer, having no clue how long it would take – or whether he would succeed at all. She seemed to understand why he couldn’t commit to a time frame.

“I’ll need to run tests on the ship for the next couple of days, and I’ll stock enough provisions to last until the Androids get here.” Hardened blue eyes returned to his face. “I’m counting on you being back before then. We need you.”

His offense at the implication that he would ever run away from a fight was tempered by those last words.  _ She needed him. _ Beside him, she stretched and reached over to retrieve her clothes, only to be restrained by his hand gently wrapping around her wrist.

“You can start preparing the ship tomorrow. We’re taking the day off, remember?”

\-------

Bulma placed the last box of capsules in its place and checked off the final box on the clipboard in front of her. She scanned the list again, looking for anything that she may have missed (that might conveniently delay the inevitable). A disappointed sigh escaped her lips just as she felt the warmth of Vegeta’s chest press against her back. Arms clasped around her waist, he rested his chin on her shoulder as he skimmed her completed to-do list.

“You’re all set.” She fought to keep her voice from wavering.

He hummed in response, still not releasing her.

“The only thing I’m worried about is the communications system. I’m not entirely sure we’ll be able to stay in contact once you’re out of the solar system, but, if something happens to the ship, you should be able to send a distress signal that will reach us.”

He pulled away from her to inspect the controls she had gone over several days before. She had also stocked a manual guide for minor repairs. 

The sound of a throat clearing behind him drew his attention back to her. She was standing with both hands in the pockets of her coveralls, which were removed once his eyes were on her. 

“I know you aren’t one for sappy goodbyes…” She raised her right hand toward him, and he took the small object she held out to him. “It’s just a little something I made out of the giant chunk of gold you brought me. Something to remember me by—a lucky charm, if you will.”

The flat piece of gold was molded into the shape of the Saiyan royal family’s crest. He tucked the gift into a pocket on the inside of his armor before pulling her in for one final kiss before departing.

“I  _ will  _ come back.”

“And you’ll be a Super Saiyan when you do.”


	7. Clover/Spring

Vegeta scanned for Bulma’s ki as the ship touched down on the Capsule Corp. lawn. It seemed as though she were in the lab, so he headed in that direction, but he paused as he sensed another ki signature in her proximity. At first, he assumed that it was her father or a lab assistant, but as he drew nearer, he could feel that it was far too strong to be a normal human. It seemed to be on par with the weakling that had courted Bulma before, and he felt a surge of jealousy before rationality prevailed. The ki didn’t belong to any of her weak human friends, but it did feel familiar… 

When the doors to the lab slid open, he found Bulma leaning across a table with her back to him. The stub of a pencil in her hand stilled at the sound of the doors opening, and he saw her jaw go slack as she turned her head to see who dared enter her domain. 

“Vegeta-” The smile fell from her face as quickly as it formed. She set her eyes forward, taking a deep breath before turning around to show him what had occurred during his absence.

Her arms wound protectively around the infant whose weight was supported by a harness strapped around her torso. Seeing the face was like looking into a tiny mirror; there was no doubt of the child’s patrilineage, regardless of the tuft of lavender hair poking out from beneath the ridiculous hat that had been placed on his head. Dumbstruck, Vegeta was paralyzed as an exact copy of his woman’s deep blue eyes cracked open.

“I found out about six weeks after you left. By the time I tried to reach you…”

He had been too far away to communicate with.

“His name is Trunks.”

The name made him scoff, causing her to glare at him. “ _ I  _ like it, and, since I had to go through pregnancy and childbirth all on my own, you don’t get to have an opinion on the matter.”

“So now it’s my fault that you can’t produce a decent communication device?” He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but he found himself going on the defensive.

“I  _ could have _ , if you had been able to wait a few more measly days, but you just had to get away from me-”

He closed the distance between them faster than her senses could process, his fingers threading through her silky, chin length tresses. “Bulma.”

Her ire dwindled; she knew that the breakdown in communication wasn’t really his fault. It had just been a scary, uncertain time while she anxiously awaited his return to see if he would accept or reject the child they had created. He didn’t seem angry, but it was always so hard to read his facial expressions.

She watched with bated breath as he brought a hand down to rest on the head of the baby that was studying him curiously. He glanced up at her face questioningly, at which she unfastened the harness and placed Trunks into the arms of his uncomfortable-looking father. When the stiff awkwardness began to leave his body, she removed her own arms and leaned back against her desk, her heart melting at the sight of Vegeta and their son silently studying each other’s faces.

\-------

There were only a few days left until the anticipated day, and Vegeta was using every single waking moment to finesse his newly attained Super Saiyan form. This was keeping Bulma busy as well, since the gravity room had already struggled to handle his abuse before he had ascended—and having an infant to take care of, on top of everything else, was stretching her patience to its limit. To make matters worse, it was spring, and dealing with seasonal allergies was the icing on the cake.

The day that Vegeta had returned had been far more amazing than she would have dared to hope. He had reacted favorably to the tiny, demi-Saiyan surprise waiting for him, even if he wasn’t overjoyed at being suddenly thrust into fatherhood, and the parents’ first evening of being reunited—and Bulma’s first time with a bonafide Super Saiyan—had been equal parts creative and acrobatic.

But tensions were high as the Androids’ arrival neared, and between the demands of a baby, Vegeta constantly breaking her technology, and intermittent, uncontrollable sneezing fits, Bulma was at her wits’ end. She found it difficult to keep herself from snarking at every adult around her, and Vegeta was no exception. In hindsight, she would regret being less patient when she knew that he was prophesied to die in less than a week.

A certain coldness had crept into their dynamic during the last few days, and it wasn’t until May 11 that the gravity of the situation fully hit her. She was confident that they could win the fight, having heeded the boy from the future’s warning, but there was still a chance that she would never see Vegeta, and several of her friends, again.

He came in late from training and found her sitting on the couch waiting for him. The tension that crept into his body language when he saw her caused a guilty knot to form in her stomach, but she stood to greet him with a smile and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” She nestled her nose into his neck as she spoke, trying to memorize the subtle scent of his skin. “I’ve been really stressed out, and it just hit that… tomorrow…”

She couldn’t even finish the thought, but he understood, humming in agreement while returning her embrace. Despite her most valiant efforts, she couldn’t stop the tears from escaping.

“I just…” She pulled away to look into his charcoal eyes. “Please promise me that you’ll be safe.”

His gaze darted away from her face, his usual unwavering confidence faltering. Unable to make any verbal promises he couldn’t keep, he placed one finger under her chin to tilt her face toward his for a kiss. No other words were necessary for the remainder of the night.

\-------

When she woke up, his side of the bed was cold.

Her morning routine seemed silly and pointless given the fact that the whole world could be destroyed by the end of the day, but she went through the motions regardless. She was used to trusting in her friends to save the day, so she shouldn’t be so disturbed by her own powerlessness. There was only one crucial difference between this fight and those that had come before… and his mirror image was smearing oatmeal around his high chair tray with his chubby little fingers.

After breakfast (and a generous dose of antihistamines), she took Trunks outside to enjoy the sunshine, her frayed nerves still tightly wound. She placed her baby on his belly to practice crawling as she toyed with the frayed edges of the blanket she had spread over the sunniest section of the lawn. While studying one particularly worn out thread, something else caught her attention, and her fingers paused over a four-leaf clover before plucking it from the ground to study it.

Brows knitted into a determined scowl, she stood swiftly, pausing only momentarily to sweep Trunks off of the blanket.

“Come on, Trunks. We’re not going to sit around while Daddy fights—we’re gonna help however we can.”

She tucked the clover into her pocket before digging out the capsule that contained her favorite airship to join the fray⸺from a safe distance, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read this! I hope that you enjoyed and that you will check out the other works in the Shamrock Shenron collection by some incredibly talented authors, if you haven't already ☘️ 💚


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